Zafir and she couldn’t even bear to look at each other without distrust.
Panic unfurled its fangs, and she felt woozy again.
“Just breathe, Ms. Hamby,” the doctor said, and Lauren let that crisp tone wash over her, glad to have someone tell her what to do.
As her breathing became normal again, a little flicker of something else crept in. She shoved her top away under the cotton sheets and splayed her fingers on her stomach. A tiny life was breathing inside her, and it felt as though it breathed courage into her.
A baby.
Her job as an ER nurse at an inner-city hospital in Brooklyn consumed every ounce of her energy, both physical and emotional. Christ, she had never even had a normal boyfriend.
She saw and dealt with unwed, single mothers and their difficulties on a day-to-day to basis. That gritty reality coupled with her own childhood had made at least one thing clear in her head. She’d never wanted to bring a child into the world that couldn’t have the love of both parents.
“Is everything okay with the...baby?” she said, her thoughts steering in another direction suddenly.
Dr. Hasan smiled, as though reassured of Lauren’s mental state. “It is very early in the pregnancy, I’m assuming. As far as your health, you’re fine. But you’re dehydrated and I suspect your iron content is low. Nothing that a week’s rest and nutritious food wouldn’t cure, though.”
Lauren nodded, feeling a little calm. As much as she hated staying within a ten-mile radius of Zafir, she wasn’t going to take any chances. She’d stay a week and then fly back to New York on her originally scheduled flight.
She needed to sort out her life, and she couldn’t do that here. Once she was back in her own city, adjusted to this new change, then she would tell him.
“Are you friends with Zafir?”
Deep pride filled the doctor’s eyes. “Yes, Zafir... I mean, His Highness and I have known each other since childhood.”
So Farrah was not only his staff but one of his friends. A week was a long time surrounded by people who worshipped the ground Zafir walked on. “But as your patient, I have your discretion?”
She frowned. “Yes, of course, Ms. Hamby.”
“Please call me Lauren.” She tugged the sheet up and clasped her hands on top of it. “I need you to keep...this,” she said, as her fingers fluttered over her stomach, “between you and me, Dr. Hasan.” A part of her flinched at the lie she was spouting with such little effort. “It doesn’t concern Zafir and I would like to keep it that way.”
A frown furrowed the doctor’s forehead. “Of course, it’s not something I will disclose to anyone. But if—”
Lauren turned away from her questions. It was better for everyone concerned if she said very little right then.
* * *
Zafir signed the last file with satisfaction and pushed it into the pile for his assistant. This was one of his pet projects, a plan sanctioning the money to upgrade the existing women’s clinic on the outskirts of the city for the tribes that still resided in the desert and constantly faced the challenge of bringing their women into the city for medical care.
He stood up from the massive oak table and walked toward the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and drank it straight. It burned a fiery path through his throat and gut but did nothing to curb the seething mass of frustration. Knowing that Lauren was in the palace, just in reach, was messing with his self-control.
Tariq’s death had put an end to their affair, but he had not forgotten the mindless pleasure he had found in her arms.
The man he was in Behraat couldn’t have an affair without courting undue scrutiny from the High Council and more importantly, the wronged people of his country. He needed to create a different image, put distance between him and the scandalous life led by Tariq. Yet...
Arif stepped into his office, a tiny camcorder in his hand. “We found the man.”
Zafir’s heart pumped faster, as if he was on a stallion racing against a desert storm. “And?”
“He gave us the footage, said he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance of power in Behraat. As long as you give him an exclusive one-on-one.”
Perversely, her friend’s indifference toward Lauren’s safety riled Zafir while she had refused to betray him in any way. “He did not inquire after Lauren?”
“He did. I took him to speak to the woman. He was satisfied about her safety and a little curious about her stay in the royal palace,” Arif said, a little hint of his own dissatisfaction thrown in for good measure.
Excitement pulsed through Zafir. He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Say it, Arif.”
“Send her away, immediately.”
No other man would have dared to suggest what Arif had said. But his old mentor was nothing if not ruthlessly loyal to Behraat.
“Why?”
“That woman,” Arif continued, showing his distaste by not mentioning Lauren by name, “is trouble. Only two days and she has already...unsettled you.”
Zafir shook his head. “I walked away, in the middle of the night, without looking back. Hid my identity from her.”
All he cared about now, or ever, was Behraat. Yet, the same thought plagued him. Did that mean he was not entitled to even the little pleasures he wanted?
“She’s due a little anger.”
His gaze steady, Arif shook his head. “You cannot let anything distract you from your path.”
And what Arif didn’t say was that he already had. Frustration and anger mixed in with a healthy dose of unsatisfied libido swirled through him.
All he had ever done was to give of himself to his father, even though he hadn’t known it then, and to Behraat. And yet, in return, he would be denied such a small thing as the one woman that tempted him no end.
No!
“Should I live my life like a monk?” It was a question he’d already asked himself. And with Lauren within reach, the answer was becoming blurry to him.
“The best thing for your future, for the future of Behraat would be to find a suitable young woman, one who knows her place in your life and marry her. Cement your position in front of the High Council.”
A pleasant, traditional, biddable Behraati woman would never talk back to him, would definitely not even think of striking him.
That’s what the future held for him. But he was in no hurry to embrace it just yet.
Tariq’s wife, Johara’s portrait caught his attention.
Johara was delicate, stunningly beautiful, shy, the daughter of a member of a powerful High Council member. Someone like her was what he needed for a future wife.
Lauren, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of Johara. Tall and lithe, hardworking, tough, prickly, and unflinchingly honest.
She asked for nothing, made no demands of him, and had nearly killed herself with flu instead of asking for help once. She had few friends outside of her work at the inner-city ER, no personal life. They had been like two perfectly matched ships crossing each other at a port.
Yet she had come looking for him, had cared enough to mourn for him.
A dangerous temptation for a man who rarely allowed himself any personal attachments...
“My life is, always will be, about Behraat, Arif. No woman will change that. Or change me into something I never could be.”
But,